Rangers: Its a Way of Life
by equinechic
Summary: A group of rangers comes across an injured young man named Strider as he is being chased by orcs in the middle of the night.
1. A Wanderer in the Woods

**Ok, so I wrote this a while ago...but its not finished, so I figured if I posted it online it would motivate me to get my butt moving and finish it since I started it over a year ago and haven't touched it since. its a bit loose right now...ok, its awful, but I'm working on it...kind of. Ok then, enjoy! Oh, and I don't own anything!**

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Rangers; it's a Way of Life

"Beinion." Thalion spoke without turning his eyes from the trees.

"Huh?" Beinion snapped out of his daydream that he had been having involving three lovely barmaids…

"Beinion!"

"Yeah, what, what? I'm awake!"

"Did you hear that?" He continued to stare into the woods, annoyed that Beinion had been daydreaming while he was on watch.

"Hear what, I didn't hear anything…"

"Never mind. I heard something, a noise, in the woods. Possibly orcs…" he turned to his companion for the first time in half an hour. Something between a grimace and a grin passed on Beinion's face.

"A midnight raid…great. Are you sure…ok, ok, I should have been paying attention." Thalion's face relaxed from the glare it held. "I suppose I should notify Hérion."

"Yes that would be wise." And Thalion watched as his watch partner disappeared into camp.

Tall and dark, in his early forties, Beinion thought he was still every bit of a catch with the women that he was when he was in his twenties. Though lines of age were creeping into his face, he still had a knack for wooing women that none of the other rangers could compete with.

As for himself, Thalion didn't care for the wooing of women. His wife had died when he was twenty-five, just shortly after he had joined the rangers. Killed by orcs, it drove him only harder in his service, giving him a position of high rank; second in command.

Thalion brushed the hair out of his eyes as he saw not two, but four men approaching from the camp. He recognized two of them as the men who were to take the next watch. The one, Sadron, of average stature, was someone who always had a smile on his face, looking on the bright side of things was really what one might call it. They couldn't imagine what he had to be happy about at such a late hour, but he wasn't going to ask questions.

The other, Veryan, was a different story. He had been with rangers longer than almost any of them, having joined as soon as he was deemed old enough. Although only in his late-thirties, his face seemed aged with battle scars long past. A fierce fighter, he was not in the rangers for recognition or for reputation, but to better his chances of killing orcs on a daily basis. He was a bit of a prankster at time too.

He among them was one of few who enjoyed going into battle. This was why his there was an etching of a smile on his face, though it did little to hide the weariness in his eyes. He had been fighting down a fever for the past three days and probably could have used the sleep, but knowing him, he would have refused rest, knowing he had the chance to spill orc blood. Fair enough, he was due to take watch in another hour.

The man in front, speaking softly to Beinion was not to be mistaken; he was Hérion, their leader. His father having been chieftain before him, he had inherited the position; however, it was rightfully passed on. Hérion had a good head, stern judgment and lead well. He was also a natural born fighter. Not one in their pack grumbled at calling him 'sir'.

"Sir."

"At ease Thalion. Beinion says you heard something?"

"Sir, a noise in the woods, just off that way. I believe I hear it again." As he spoke, they heard what seemed like a call in the woods; not quite human, not quite beast.

"Well done." He held up his torch and stepped away from the camp. Beinion and Thalion, each with a sword and Sadron and Veryan with their bows, being skilled at shooting even in the dark of the night, stepped softly behind.

"There, past those trees." Thalion whispered so low, it might have been confused with a slight breeze passing through the woods. Carefully Hérion stepped past a large oak, Thalion and Beinion close at hand with their swords raised, Sadron and Veryan behind, each with an arrow notched.

Hérion raised his torch high; illuminating a small clearing just as a man came crashing through the trees, nearly knocking into him as he stumbled. Thalion and Beinion stepped forward with their swords poised for attack as Hérion approached. The man nearly fell and though Veryan arched his bow, Thalion and Beinion were quick to sheath their swords and grab the man's shoulders, supporting him and restraining him at the same time.

The light of the torch blazed on the man's face as he gasped for breath, his chest heaving as he struggled to take in air. His eyes closed as he allowed them to hold him up.

Hérion looked him over in a quick discerning glance and saw that he was young, twenty-five at the oldest. Dried blood was on his face. _He's injured. _"Who are you," he asked curtly.

The man spoke in a scared yet monotonous tone. "Strider, sir…" Gasping he looked up at Hérion for the first time. "…Orcs." As he spoke, they heard near at hand, the heavy steps of a small orc company approaching at great speed. Not a second later, some fifteen orcs burst through the clearing. Without hesitation Sadron and Veryan fired and were already notching their second round of arrows. They nodded to Hérion that they had it covered and Hérion led Thalion and Beinion, still supporting the man between them, back towards the camp. Not five steps later however, the man, Strider, fainted away and they were forced to half carry, half drag him away as they left Veryan and Sadron to contend with the remaining orcs.

Too close for arrows, they drew their swords, and stood ready for them. Only five left now, dark and ugly as they always are; they could handle them. The orcs leapt at them and the two rangers took the beasts on; Sadron against two, and Veryan willingly against three.

They took their first down easily; Sadron passing his sword through the foul beast's stomach, Veryan choosing to remove its head, smiling as it thudded. However in that moment the other two attacked at once, gaining his attention immediately. Meanwhile, Sadron pulled his sword from the orc's chest, pleased to be finished killing the foul creatures for the night.

Veryan swung his sword up, easily parrying the orc's attack. He then swung down, ready to remove the orc of his existence when a searing pain sliced through his upper sword arm. Bent over, he clutched his arm as blood ran through his fingers. He looked up to the orc, blade poised, grinning down at him.

Sadron turned, just in time to see Veryan half lunge, half fall forward, using his body weight to plunge his sword through the stomach of the orc, a second later and the orc would have done the same to him. Sadron watched as Veryan fell, and lay vulnerable on the ground, his sword arm bleeding and useless. And that was when he heard a grunt. There was still an orc left, and he was standing over Veryan.

Sadron couldn't even move, before he could think, it was over. The orc raised his sword, let it drop and just before contact, Veryan switched his word to his left hand, plunging his sword deep in its chest and rolled with a great effort out of the way as the orc crashed to the ground in a bloody mess.

"Veryan? Can you hear me?" Sadron knelt down beside him in alarm.

"Loud and clear buddy, load and clear." He rolled onto his stomach and used his good arm to stand up, refusing help from his companion.

"I'm fine, really. No, I don't need your help getting back to camp, that's right hands off me." He rambled on quickly, shoving off Sadron's concern. "The beasts never learn; they can't beat me. They should stop trying. I know what you're thinking; then we wouldn't have any fun. Don't give me that look, the others are waiting." And his sword, with difficulty, was back in its sheath, bow on his back, and he disappeared into the woods, Sadron running to catch up.

Veryan could make good conversation when he wanted, but that wasn't often; he was a firm believer of 'actions speak louder than words' especially if it meant fighting. What happened back in the clearing was, ludicrous for Veryan and Sadron was certain that by morning he would deny it had ever happened.


	2. No Rest in These Woods

**Ok, its been so long I almost forgot about it...thats bad! Sorry, I had so much stuff to do...but I've been done with school for almost a month now...I'm now a sophmore in college, and I made the dean's list. My bf is London...he's been there for 22 days already...he's coming home nine more...can't wait...the two of us are, to quote the Scorpion King..."tighter than a crab's buttocks"...I love that line. He's my best friend and the man I hope to marry, so understand that i've been having some difficulty doing much of anything, especially writing...mostly beacuse of him being gone and because i got a full time job a Hershey Chocolate Factory during the night and I sleep during the day. So, without further ado...I don't own Lord of the Rings...here's chapter two! **

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Rangers; it's a Way of Life

"Careful, we don't want to tear that cut back open." Thalion and Beinion laid the man down on the ground slowly and stepped away to let Hérion see. "This needs cleaning, the one on his head too. Some water Beinion, and you may rest, your watch is over. Thalion, if you don't mind, I could use another pair of hands and with your skill in healing…"

"Sir, my services are always available to those who need them."

"Pleased to hear so, help me remove his shirt." Taking off the man's shirt revealed the cut fully; swollen and an angry red, shadowed by his ribs that jutted out in his frail half-starved frame. "Orcs indeed, he needs some food in him."

"Nothing is broken, however there is a cut on his leg that needs immediate attention, otherwise he may lose it or worse." Thalion cut away the leg of the pants, revealing a deep cut almost a half a foot long that was heavily infected.

"Gods, how did he walk?" Thalion shook his head.

"If the ones who caused this were running behind me, I would have kept going too, until my heart burst from my chest. Being taken would be worse, so much worse."

Thalion shuddered at the thought of his captain's words. No need to be dwelling on that! He heard footsteps approaching and saw Beinion returning with the water. Hérion rose and bid him goodnight and saw, as he stood, Veryan and Sadron returning to camp. Placing the water on the ground, he excused himself to greet them.

"Back so soon? How are our orc friends doing?"

"Wishing they had stayed in Mordor." Veryan cracked a smile. Hérion threw back his head and laughed, having needed a break from the seriousness of the situation.

"Is the arm ok?" Trust Hérion to spot that right away.

"Fine sir." Veryan stiffened at the mention of it.

"Are you quite certain?" He gazed at it worriedly.

"Oh you know Veryan," Sadron clapped him on the back, "his horse could fall on him and he would say it was just a bruise…oh now wait a minute…that did happen." The three of the shared a half hearted laugh.

"Have that looked at, it may be poisoned. Your watch starts in ten minutes. Gentlemen." And he was gone again. Poor captain, he never got rest.

"How is he?" Hérion knelt back down beside the strange man.

"He burns. His leg needs to be seen to; he won't survive the night if it isn't." Hérion looked at Thalion; he knew what had to be done.

"I'll stoke the fire. Pass me your blade."

Moments later, he came back, the fire only feet away, with the blade freshly cleaned in the flames, the fire now burning brightly and warmly.

"Are you ready to do this?" he asked Thalion as he raised the blade. Before he could answer, they heard a noise. Glancing down, they saw two scared eyes looking up at them.

"No more…..please. Just kill me…..like the others…" they could barely discern anything he said.

"Lad, Strider, calm down. Easy. We are going to help you." Hérion nodded to Thalion who lowered his blade, pressing it into the man's swollen leg, opening the wound to clean it.

"No….Eru, no…!"

"Quickly now, while he is fainted." They had barely begun; it would be a long night.

"Hold him down, he may yet move while he is out, this doesn't feel too pretty." Thalion fetched an iron from the coals.

The man's shoulder's strained against him at first, but he then went limp and sank into the ground. Hérion felt his pulse, still there, that was a good sign. "He's still got a long way to go."

Hérion dropped the cloth back into the bowl of water, having finished washing the sweat and dried blood off the man's face. Sighing, he stood and went to talk to Veryan and Sadron, whose watch was just ending.

"Quiet night now huh?"

"Not so much as an owl hoot. The stink of dead orcs must have gotten round."

"I thought I told you to have your arm seen to." Hérion saw Veryan wince as he tried to carry his arm naturally.

"I had my watch sir; I thought that more important, with all the activity there had been." He spoke clearly but there was a slight wavering in his voice and the man had started to go pale.

"And rightly so, however I told you to have it looked at. We don't need you out, you're already fighting down a fever, don't look at me that way, I know that you've been trying to hide this recent sickness from me. Next time," he added lightly, "do as I say." And he turned to check back on Thalion.

"Sir…" Veryan cried out weakly. Hérion turned and was quick to put out his arms, catching Veryan as he fell forward. "Think I'll listen next time." He whispered as he slumped forward in Hérion's arms, taking a moment to catch his breath.

Hérion shook his head as he helped Veryan to his bedroll. _Probably the only tainted blade the orcs had with them, and he had to find it_. Veryan collapsed on his blanket and shivered in the cool night air. Hérion brushed the sweaty hair out of his face and looked in his eyes, sighing as he did.

"Sir," he looked up to Sadron standing next to him. "I'll look after him; he'll be fine by morning. Nothing kills our beast, right?" He joked in light of the situation.

"Right you are, I'm sure he will be just fine…..some night we're having…."

"Sir!" Thalion came running and shouting. "Sir!"

"What is it?"

"The wanderer, Strider, he's violently sick sir!" Hérion took off running muttering something about never getting sleep before he dies.

Hérion knelt down beside the man, panting slightly from his brisk run and held the man up, Thalion keeping his long, unruly hair out of the way as the man retched. Strider's chest heaved as they tried to lie him back down, but to no avail as the man started to get sick again. They helped him back on his side but the man collapsed from the effort and would have pitched headlong into the bowl containing his filth had Hérion not caught him.

It was about the sixth time he had vomited when Strider's stomach decided there was absolutely nothing left to force back up. They laid him back down and found, much to their surprise, two tired eyes staring wearily back up at them.

"Thank you…than…you saved my…my life." he forced out through parched lips.

"Thalion, some water." Hérion turned his attention back to the young man. "A man's life is worth saving, don't you think?"

"Only if it…can be…saved…….sir." the man closed his eyes and rested his head in its side.

Thalion came back at this moment and Hérion looked up, not expecting him so soon.

"Veryan offered me his water skin." He said in reply to the questioning look in his commander's eyes.

He shook his head and took the skin, helping the man to sit up and take a drink. The man coughed as he choked on it and Hérion saw a dark liquid spurt out of his mouth and dribble down his chin. "Veryan offered you his water skin you say?" he looked at the dark red substance now residing on Strider's face. "Tell me, since when is wine considered to be water? Only Veryan." He handed the skin back. "Go get me water this time." He then proceeded to clean up the mess that had been made with the said wine.

Thalion returned a few minutes later, this time with water. Again Hérion aided the man, holding the skin to his lips and gently tilting it back. He allowed a small sip then pulled the skin away but he found that the man had grabbed his wrist, his eyes pleading with him.

"Please, more."

This time Hérion allowed him to drink his fill; almost the whole skin, before pulling away. Strider blinked his eyes wearily and tried to speak again.

"Thank you…"

"Don't thank me, rest. You could use it." He watched as the man's eyes drifted shut against his will and sat by his side as the man slept. After an hour he decided the man was stable enough and he called a fellow ranger over to stand guard while he got some sleep.


	3. Blood for the Hunt

**Wow, its been a really, really, REALLY long time since I've updated...so sorry about that...its been one of those summers, you have no idea, but now that I'm back at school, I can go back to sitting in my dorm not doing my homework again...here I am, third day back at school and I have a new chapter for you! Yea! Its a little short, but hey, I do have to do _some_ of my homework...really, its gonna be a tough semester, so I do have to study...which I will go do now...ummm, ok, after I read some of my book...and eat some dinner...and maybe take a nap...ok, so enjoy...oh yeah, I don't own it!**

Rangers; it's a Way of Life

The sound of birds chirping in the early morning could be heard echoing everywhere in the forest, a strange contrast to the eerie quietness of the night before. And it was for this reason, this sound that helped assure the men that all was well, that Hérion was able to sleep very deeply, despite all the commotion going on in the branches. That is, until a very load crow took off from a large oak just above his head.

The time was about 7:30, slightly after the usual for him. With a quick rub of the eyes and a firm shake of the head to clear the night previous' events, he rose and went to find some quick food, then have a talk with their new strange friend.

When he first approached he thought the man asleep, but as he neared, he saw that his eyes were wide open, staring at the sky with a haunted look deep in them. Hérion knelt beside him and searched for something to say. He knew nothing about him, this stranger named Strider, knew nothing about what had happened to him, what could he say, what words of comfort could he spare when they, he and his fellow rangers, seldom knew the word themselves? They were each other's families here, what could he do to comfort an outsider.

He looked at the man; cold eyes still staring, unmoving at the sky. He wondered if he knew he was there. He made to touch his shoulder but stopped when Strider suddenly spoke, a blank, almost bored voice, but Hérion could sense fear in it.

"They killed them all, they're all gone."

"What?" Hérion spoke from surprise without thinking.

"They're all dead, except me." The man broke his gaze from the sky for the first time and stared at Hérion. "Or am I dead too?" He looked around confused.

"Easy lad, you're safe." He squeezed his shoulder in reassurance.

"No, never safe, they'll always come after me, always."

"Who?" he asked softly.

"Orcs. His eyes slid closed and he spoke no more. Hérion wasn't sure if he was asleep or just choosing to be ignored for the time being, but Hérion stood and left him for the time being and went to fetch Strider some hot mash from the fire pit, since undoubtedly the man would be hungry. When he returned to where they had left him though, he found the bedroll empty.

Concerned Hérion looked around. Strider, he knew, could easily be in trouble, or worse, causing it. A ranger camp area was no place to mess around in if one didn't know what was going on, and so few outsiders knew much of anything about them. Hérion called out for the man, feeling slightly foolish as he did. How could he lose place of an injured, sick, half starved man, barely into his years of adulthood? He called out again, then sighed in relief as he saw him standing at the edge of the camp, starting off into the woods.

Hérion walked somewhat heavier than usual, making sure Strider could hear him approaching. The last thing he wanted was for someone to shout out 'Orcs' right in their camp. Hérion did a double take when he realized that Strider was standing about the same area, and staring through the same trees that they brought him in from the night before. He shook it off as coincidence and confronted the man as to why he was out of bed.

He had barely opened his mouth however when once again Strider beat him to it.

"They were my first command. And now they're gone." At last some light on what had happened. But the light only seemed to reveal a cave full of unexplored tunnels.

"I'm afraid I don't know quite what you are talking about."

"My men, they're dead, all of them. They were my responsibility, it's my fault. All those families now broken apart…all my fault."

"What men, what command?" Hérion had to be suspicious of everything these days, evil was everywhere anymore.

"Think you the only group of rangers in this part?" Strider turned and smiled gloomily. "Well, we were a group…I suppose we still are…"

"Slow down, you're not making any sense lad."

"Nothing makes sense anymore…" The man suddenly swayed on his feet and Hérion was quick to steady him.

"Lets get you back to your bedroll, and then get some hot food in you, then you'll feel alive again." Strider leaned heavily on Hérion as he guided him back to his bed. He sat him down carefully then handed him the bowl hot mash. He watched as he ate hungrily.

"How long has it been since you last ate?" he said almost without thinking.

"Nigh on three days, almost as long without water." No wonder the lad looked half starved, he was!

"What happened out there? What happened to you?" he sat down across from Strider and leaned forward.

"I have been with the rangers for six months now. As my father's son it was my job to command the group." Hérion nodded knowingly, having inherited his position the same. "My father was killed when I was younger, so a relative was standing in until I was of age. When I joined the rest of them, he thought it best to give me time to adjust to the lifestyle, so I was second in command; I suppose you could say, for a few months. Then he broke off fifteen men from the core group for me to command. I was to return in three months to take over the whole group. We were on our return journey when we were attacked." He paused to scrape the bottom of his bowl and lick his spoon clean. Hérion's eyes twinkled with amusement.

"We were making camp for the night, it was late, and I had pressed them hard that day, eager to be back. I told them I would take the first watch alone. I know I didn't fall asleep…" he paused, seeming to be frustrated with himself, "But my senses were not what they should have been. Before I could react orcs were upon us. Three of my men were killed without ever having a chance to defend themselves. They all fought bravely, even though we were outnumbered, we did what we could. In the end, only three of us survived. One, however, was injured to badly. We knew there were more orcs nearby and that we had to get back to the others. I didn't want to…but there was no other choice…he never would have survived…"

'Easy now, easy, no sense in getting worked up." Hérion put a steady hand on each shoulder, which had begun to shake. "It is a decision, unfortunately, that we all make at some point, that's part of our duty as leader, but its never easy." He waited for him to continue.

"So we…we had to try and continue on to the camp, only we weren't sure where to go. Our senses were messed with, and we were far from well. We wandered for a day, hopelessly lost, with no supplies. I did what I could for my companion, but when I woke the next morning, wondering why he had not awoken me for my turn at the watch, I found him dead. He had passed on sometime during the night without a sound. Fortunately there was no danger that night, but I was now alone. I must have stumbled around for hours that day, falling occasionally, sometimes, I wouldn't get back up for an hour. Then, just after nightfall, I felt them coming again; orcs. So I ran. I knew there weren't many of them, but with just my sword, and no others to help, already being injured as I was…"

"You were no coward to run. Tis what you had to do to survive."

"I knew they would not stop chasing me, nothing but death would stop them, so long as I was alive.' Strider swallowed hard, acknowledging the unbidden curse he had received by being heir to the throne.

"So you ran till you could run no more, which was when you happened upon us, yes?" Strider nodded in silent agreement as he brooded over what happened. "You may relax now, you are safe here."

"No, never safe."

_He is delirious, he is probably still shook up over everything that has happened, and no doubt why. We'll wait till he is healed then get him back where he belongs._ "Who is in command now of your group, who is your kinsman?" Perhaps he knew of him, knew where to send Strider.

Strider eyed the man in front of him warily. He was a fellow ranger, he knew the risks and the dangers, he knew the life…he could trust him. "Halbarad." He dropped his gaze to the ground as he spoke softly.

"Your father was Arathorn!"


End file.
